Chapter 7
For at least a fortnight after that, Gwen was…strange. He seemed withdrawn when Marcus spoke to him in the evening. He answered and practiced Latin as before, but he avoided meeting Marcus’ gaze, and when their eyes did meet, Gwen was quick to look away. The change in behavior puzzled Marcus, until the thought occurred to him—This is more natural. This is how he should have behaved toward me from the first.
And yet, somehow it did not seem like outright rejection. Avoidance, yes, but not hatred—which Marcus could have understood from one he had violated. At times, he would look up to find Gwen’s eyes upon him, and in that flash of a moment before the druid looked quickly away, his expression almost seemed to be…reaching for Marcus. It was nothing as simple or clear as outright longing, and he hid it at once, so Marcus never had a chance to examine the look. Even so, he felt the pull of Gwen’s eyes upon him—followed quickly by a flushed face turning away from him.
It left him…confused. Lost, perhaps. Gwen had been so open with him—not, perhaps, always happy, but always accepting. Most of all…never hiding. Never had Gwen withdrawn from him as if to conceal something. Perhaps that was why Marcus felt he had understood his emotions so well until now, if not his thoughts. Once Gwen began to avoid his gaze, Marcus felt helpless to understand him in any way.
It was a trying stretch of time, a heavy burden upon Marcus’ heart all the while. Still, he told himself, patience. When he knows more Latin, when we can speak more plainly…
Then came the night of the new moon.
It was a blacker night than any other—no moonlight, and even the stars were darkened by a heavy blanket of clouds that had kept the sun dim all day. By the deepest hours of the night, the embers cast so little light in Marcus’ chamber that he could barely see an arm’s length in front of his face.
It was in this impenetrable blackness that Marcus opened his eyes, waking from a deep dream into a long, surreal moment when he thought he still slumbered—before he realized that the warm weight upon him was real, and the hot breath upon his neck was real, and the rough hand slowly pumping his cock to full erection was real.
With a gasp, he stiffened, his entire body tensing—yet before he could so much as voice his shock, there were lips upon his mouth, feeling their way before fully sealing him into a deep kiss. The taste of it, the heat and the caresses of the exploring tongue—it took Marcus’ breath away, and he was faint by the time the kiss broke, even slightly.
“Gwen…!” His whisper was strained, body sluggishly trying to struggle, but Gwen was heavy atop him—and nude, Marcus realized with a fresh shock. He could feel skin against his skin, suddenly grasping that his own clothing was gone as well. His hands shook as he lifted them to fumble at Gwen’s shoulders, trying to discourage him—aching to hold him closer.
At almost the same moment, Gwen’s voice came from the darkness—“Markus…” His low tones were rough, the sound speaking of lustful intent. Then—“Plees,” and another kiss, even hungrier than the first.
At that, Marcus’ cock went rigid, swollen to fullness and throbbing. He was lost, helpless with that one word. Can it be true…that he should desire…? Heart racing and breath shaking, Marcus moaned into the other man’s mouth. When Gwen released his lips, still close enough to heat the moist skin with each breath, he could only gasp, “Yes, Gwen, yes!” His arms were around the man at once, gathering him close and pressing their bodies together, hot and already damp with sweat.
He could barely see Gwen in the dark, but a hand touched his face and guided their mouths together again. Marcus quickly took the lead, kissing Gwen with a blazing passion. He did not understand—but he did not need to. He had been yearning for Gwen for so long, denying his soul-deep desires so relentlessly, uncaring of how much it hurt to do so. Now that Gwen was coming to his bed willingly, Marcus could have wept for joy, and his kisses and his urgent embrace made his wholehearted welcome plain.
Gwen shifted, lying more fully atop him, and Marcus felt the heat of his hard prick against his hip. He tried to pull Gwen nearer, bring their bodies into a more sensual alignment, but Gwen resisted the pull, instead speeding the pace of his hand stroking Marcus’ cock. Marcus choked, groaned, and met the heady questing of Gwen’s mouth with ravenous kisses. He…couldn’t bear this, not for long. “Gwen,” he moaned into the man’s mouth, desperate with need. Then he began to push upward, seeking to roll them over and push Gwen down upon the bed.
The hand on his cock tightened—warning. Marcus faltered, a strangled gasp falling from his lips. “Markus…” Gwen’s voice was breathy as well. Then he released Marcus to bring both hands to his chest, pressing insistently down, returning Marcus to his back. “Plees.”
He only hesitated a moment—happily, it only took a moment for Marcus to realize that Gwen might need to keep control of this. Perhaps it was a lingering fear after the rape; perhaps it was meaningful in some other way. It mattered not—Marcus had forced him down before; he owed him this. He would obey and let Gwen have whatever he wanted. “Yes,” he whispered his agreement, body softening and submitting, lying back and allowing Gwen to do as he pleased.
“Mai thanks.” The words were soft in the darkness, but Marcus thought he heard a slight smile to them. Then Gwen was kissing him again.
When Gwen moved, it was slow and calculated—their bodies aligned, hot, hard cocks rubbing together, and Marcus had to fight down his urges again, but he managed to remain mostly passive and let Gwen be the one to roll his hips and gently thrust against his erection. Marcus poured himself into kisses instead, answering Gwen’s every gentle probe with intense feeling.
All but blind, Marcus’ other senses came alive in the blackness. He could hear every soft sound in the silence of deepest night—every shish of fabric or skin on skin, every little wet sound of their joined mouths, every soft gasp and moan of Gwen’s every breath.
He was drowning in scent. The heady musk of fresh sweat, the hint of wild-grass and open air that clung subtly to Gwen’s hair. The furs and skins of the bed, mingled with the masculine aroma of Gwen—like the first time. On the furs, in Gwen’s little hut—the first time he’d known this scent. Whatever Marcus might regret, he could only feel pleasure in this moment of recognition.
And touch. Touch. He could feel everything. Every whisper of contact, every barest brush of Gwen’s body, the roughness of his beard, his hair falling onto Marcus’ face, his fingers tracing wherever they wished. He trembled with each new caress. Gwen’s hands gripped his neck, bracing and strong…then softened and slid down, exploring his chest with rubbing pressure over every muscle. There was something in that touch—something very eager, something admiring. Marcus wished he could see Gwen’s eyes. Oh, to know for sure if Gwen was looking at him the way he always looked at Gwen! But the thought vanished like smoke as Gwen’s hands moved onward, briefly dancing over his stomach, teasing Marcus with the hope that Gwen would touch his cock again before he instead moved up, fingers sliding from Marcus’ clavicles down his biceps and further, all the way down both his arms to his hands.
Gwen’s mouth grew hot and urgent, yet clumsy; his hips thrust harder, yet not as smoothly. Even so, Marcus was lost in the sensations, and only faintly remembered Gwen’s hands, which laced fingers with his own briefly, giving a soft squeeze before letting go. He felt fingertips still moving, however—tracing over his palms absently as Gwen arched above him and his whole body began to rock, almost writhing with passion.
“Gwen,” he gasped, almost broken by his own need. The name fell from his lips like a prayer, chanted reverently, “Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen…” The featherlike touch of Gwen’s fingers traced their patterns upward again, along the inside of his wrists and forearms, as Gwen shifted his hips forward. Marcus felt the grasp of legs against his sides as his cock slipped between Gwen’s legs. When the man rocked back again, Marcus felt his erection rubbing the firm curve of Gwen’s backside. There was a slickness on his skin that was more than just sweat, and Marcus sucked in a shaking breath.
If this wasn’t some midnight tryst, driven by impulsive lust…if Gwen had actually prepared himself…!
One of Gwen’s hands lifted, and Marcus felt it next when it touched his cock, lightly stroking and nudging the shaft into the cleft of Gwen’s buttocks. “Markus…” the voice in the dark was half moan, half pleading gasp. He felt Gwen’s other hand caress his chest, pressing over his heart.
“Please…yes, Gwen, yes!” It took all the willpower he could summon to restrain himself from grabbing the man and impaling him in one lust-maddened thrust. His determination alone might not have been enough, but adoration strengthened him. Gwen was his desire—he wanted to submit to him, to let him take what he pleased.
And, in the blinding dark, Gwen did.
He sat up a bit, angling his hips back as his hand guided Marcus toward the center of his ass, to the warm, slick flesh that parted slowly around the head of his cock.
Then more. Slowly. Deeper.
Marcus was trembling, biting back moans of bliss as Gwen sank down, his body slick and warm and opening to take Marcus in deep. The soft sound of Gwen’s voice filled his ears—whispers in his pagan tongue, murmuring in the dark.
Then Gwen stopped, panting. Marcus felt himself fully seated in the man’s body. Gwen was propping himself up with a hand over Marcus’ heart, leaning heavily on it. His fingers twitched, clutching and releasing impulsively—the action mirrored by the muscles of Gwen’s buttocks. Marcus moaned as the fluttering grasp around his prick nearly shredded his already-thin control. He was answered by a thin, strained sound from Gwen. Pain? Probably. Even with preparation, it had been weeks. Gwen was tight—hot and wet and oh, so tight around him. Marcus wanted to roll them over and ease out a bit, let Gwen take his cock more gradually, while he rubbed and caressed the man everywhere, relaxing his entire body. Next time…next time. If Gwen desired…
With a grunt, Gwen lifted upward and dropped down again—an awkward but effective beginning that made his desires clear. Though his breathing was ragged with pain, Gwen refused to stop. He took Marcus in again with another hard, clumsy lift and drop. Marcus could feel the trembling in Gwen’s body, everywhere they touched. His legs around Marcus’ hips, the hand still on his chest—the hot clasp of his body, shuddering with the strain of this coupling.
He couldn’t bear to lie still any more. Without pushing Gwen any further or taking away his control, Marcus reached down and found his legs in the darkness. Running his hands over the tense, shaking muscles, he slowly caressed his way up to Gwen’s hips. He held him there, fingers rubbing soothingly as Gwen lifted himself again—still awkward, still unsteady, but less abrupt when he sank down again.
Reverently, Marcus’s hands stroked over Gwen’s body, seeing him without sight in the darkness. He felt the arch of hipbones under his fingers, the flat of Gwen’s stomach, his skinny waist, his ribs, the coarse hair over his chest. He let his touch glide down through the trail of hair, the back of his thumb brushing the hot, hard shaft of Gwen’s erection, almost by accident as he let his hand rest low on Gwen’s abdomen. His other hand returned to Gwen’s thigh as that one hovered, awaiting some indication that touching Gwen’s manhood would not be too forward.
With a faint sound of pleasure, Gwen moved again—this time, it was a shaky push against Marcus’ hand. A quest for more of that touch. Still caressing his thigh, Marcus let his other hand lift and turn, his fingertips brushing Gwen’s prick now, lightly tracing around him—easily removed with the brush of a hand, if Gwen chose.
Gwen did not. He rolled his hips again, thrusting into Marcus’ hand, and at that, Marcus finally took hold of him fully. He was answered at once with a pleasure-soaked moan, Gwen nudging his prick into Marcus’ grasp. Urging him to stroke. Then he reared up and took Marcus in again, and this time it was almost magical how smoothly Marcus’ cock sank into his body. Marcus moaned himself, his body burning for more, but he forced himself to wait and threw his need to act into touching Gwen’s body and stroking him into a frenzy of lust.
Again and again, Gwen moved on top of him. It was not always smooth—Gwen’s pace faltered still, making the rhythm waver. Some moments they came together perfectly, falling into each other with a grace that seemed enchanted. Other moments were broken, abrupt, or too rough, too quick. Much of it fell somewhere in between, as Gwen bobbed atop Marcus and gradually felt out a pace he could keep.
It was obvious—so obvious—that Gwen had never done this before. Marcus still couldn’t swear that he was a virgin before they met, but he knew, at least, that Gwen had never been given control with another man, like this. Knowing that made the best moments seem almost impossible, like only witchcraft could teach Gwen to ride Marcus’ cock so perfectly. And then he’d falter again, and Marcus would forget about witchcraft and think about first times, and how this one, Gwen had chosen to give to him, and no amount of unsteadiness could dim his ardor.
If Gwen faltered, Marcus’ hand on his prick quickly made him forget, stroking his pleasure higher, urging him onward—banishing hesitation. When their coupling found that wonderful rhythm, Gwen controlled how much pleasure he received from Marcus’ hand—and Marcus focused instead on touching as much of Gwen as he could. After a time, he even dared to caress down the firm line of Gwen’s back, his hand sliding into place over one of Gwen’s buttocks. When that was not discouraged, Marcus dared to gently squeeze. He heard a whimper of pleasure that encouraged him to do more of that, so he did, feeling the muscles clench as Gwen rode him.
Gwen’s prick was leaking steadily into Marcus’ hand, now, and Marcus was in the same condition—Gwen had grown wetter inside, thanks to that. His voice was still soft, but strained, as though he was withholding loud sounds of pleasure. Marcus, at least, certainly was. He longed to groan and cry out and muffle those sounds against Gwen’s skin, kissing and sucking every part of his body. Still, he restrained himself, letting Gwen carry both of them closer to the edge—in his own time.
It wasn’t far off, either. Gwen moved with less intention, less caution—more desperation as he neared the peak. It was…truly like feeling a spell work. The less he was able to think about what he was doing, the more instinct took over, and as the pace began to escalate into a wild race to completion, the stumbling and awkwardness quietly smoothed out and vanished. Marcus could feel it all—the way Gwen’s hips rolled, his legs and buttocks flexing smoothly, driving him up and down relentlessly on Marcus’ cock. The way his prick dribbled warm fluid into Marcus’ hand. The way his breathing was fast and heavy and almost perfectly matched to Marcus’ gasps for air and self-restraint.
They were one—joined together in the throes of passion and pleasure, feeling the same heat, reaching for the same climax while carrying each other there. Marcus couldn’t keep his hips entirely still anymore—not with any amount of restraint. As Gwen sank down, he thrust up to meet him, hilting his cock within Gwen’s body. So deep—so wonderfully hot, fully inside him.
“Markus!” It was a strained cry, breaking from those lips in the dark—a pleading sound and a demanding one. Then Gwen trembled, gasping as he came. The hot splash of his orgasm on Marcus’ chest and in his hand was too much, even without sight to confirm it. By sound and feel, Marcus came undone. He stroked Gwen eagerly through the climax, and when he was spent, Marcus moved his hand away from the man’s sensitive prick and grasped his hips with both hands.
Gwen was almost limp atop him—barely holding himself up as his legs shuddered with aftershocks. He wasn’t much help…but Marcus didn’t need help. He lifted Gwen a bit and thrust up, hard and fast, into the soft, wet heat of his body. Gwen’s moans rose again as Marcus pounded into him, but there was no protest in them—nothing but helpless lust, encouraging him, spurring him on. And on he went, pumping his hips hard for another minute as he felt his own peak approach, hover, and then break.
Hot bliss washed over him as he came—buried deep inside Gwen. Marcus grunted as his seed spurted hard and fast into Gwen’s body—filling him, soaking him…claiming him, or so it felt to Marcus in the moment. Mine, he thought, he is mine. Not by any coercion or force, but by Gwen’s choosing. Marcus was overcome with gratitude, even as he felt Gwen’s buttocks lightly squeeze and caress his still-spurting cock—milking him for every hot drop of semen he had to give.
His ejaculations slowed, fading. Exhausted, Marcus collapsed onto his back, body slack and boneless. His cock was slowly softening, beginning to slip out of Gwen’s body. Gwen remained atop him, straddling his hips, and Marcus felt a yearning wish that he would lay down beside him now. He didn’t want to force anything from Gwen, but oh, he longed for the man to come into his arms now, with soft kisses and sweet intimacy. He wanted to hold Gwen close until dawn, to whisper into his ear all the words Gwen still didn’t understand, in a grateful, adoring tone he surely would.
Gwen’s soft voice broke through his dream, and Marcus realized that the man had been murmuring softly in his barbarian tongue. Lying in the dark, soft and pliant with post-coitus, Marcus just listened, wondering. Such a strange tongue…I wish I could understand it. The tone, however—well, that was odd too. He could not hear much emotion in it, though it was gentle…yet also distant, in a way that gave Marcus the odd feeling that Gwen wasn’t speaking to him.
Curious, Marcus began to sit up, but before he had even moved, Gwen’s hands upon his chest stopped him, gently pressing him back down. He sank back, feeling the warmth of Gwen’s hands travel across his chest and shoulders and down his arms, spreading them to either side of his body.
Suddenly, Gwen’s hands tightened into manacles around his wrists, his voice dropped, and the tone of his barbarian words became deep and commanding. Marcus felt a force—he hardly knew how to understand it. It was like the strength of a sea wind in a storm slamming his whole body, pinning him down. The pressure of Gwen’s hands lifted, but the force remained steady, and Marcus, confused, tried to raise himself.
When he couldn’t move his arms, reflexes kicked in and he threw his full strength against the force.
Nothing.
He kicked, and his legs wouldn’t move either. He tried to thrash, but Gwen’s hand was back over his heart, pressing down, his pagan words commanding again in a tone that resonated with an ancient depth Marcus had never heard from him before. He felt another force hit him, this one more like a punch square in the chest, radiating out through his every limb—an all-consuming laxness. His whole body simply went limp, and even his most desperate attempts to tense for movement failed completely. Marcus could not even lift a finger, and the moment he realized this, his secondary instincts as a fighter kicked in.
Strength having failed, his senses all became incredibly sharp as he stilled his mind, listening and watching and taking in everything, attempting to assess what was happening. Ready to form a strategy of response the moment he knew what he was dealing with.
Gwen spoke again, his voice hollow. “Yg gwyd cant en aryal en emwyt, Gweinydyawr ysgwydawr yg gweithyen.” The words were strange to Marcus’ ear, but there was a rhythm, a rise and fall to them. He knew it for an incantation. He is cursing me…or killing me. And I am helpless.
Cold with fear, Marcus waited…watched. All the pleasure and warmth was dead and forgotten. What he had taken for an act of mutual desire and release now looked like a trap, done to render him helpless against druid enchantments. A part of him knew that he had earned any vengeance Gwen wished to enact, but another part of him had hoped…
Voice sharpening into another command, Gwen spoke a few short barbarian words…and the fire blazed to life in the hearth. The sudden light was low, and eerily much redder than the usual gold and bronze of firelight. By the dim illumination, Marcus could finally see Gwen, still straddling his hips, and he caught his breath at the sight.
The man he had just coupled with was covered in frightening, strange markings, drawn all over his nude body with something dark that had mostly resisted smearing. Though Gwen was still soaked with sweat that was only beginning to dry, and though Marcus’ hands had caressed much of his skin, the pagan runes still showed sharply on his body—hands and arms, chest and stomach, legs, feet, neck, face. It gave Gwen a grisly aspect, like some wild-lands monster sitting on Marcus’ lap. The part of him grieving the betrayal nearly died at the sight, leaving behind only horror and repulsion.
Watching Marcus with an intense but distant light in his eyes, Gwen reached back, behind himself, and his expression flickered with a far more natural-looking wince for just a moment. Then his hand came back, dripping with what could only be Marcus’ semen. With his other hand, Gwen reached under the furs at the foot of the bed—hitherto undisturbed—and drew out a dagger.
For one moment, Marcus was certain that he was dead. Then Gwen brought the blade to his other hand, and Marcus watched with a jolt of shock as the druid sliced into his own palm. Blood welled and dribbled from the wound, mixing with Marcus’ semen. Gwen dropped the dagger to the floor with a dull thud. Murmuring again, he held his injured and soiled left hand out. Marcus felt the droplets of warm liquid upon his skin, and then the weight of Gwen’s hand pressed down on his chest again, right over his heart, as before.
This is it.
The fire burned red, flickering over the barbaric runes marring Gwen’s skin. For a moment, all was silent. Marcus could not move; Gwen’s eyes were closed and his breathing deep, as though he were focusing. Marcus braced his mind, his body still frozen in place.
Then the chanting began. Yet this time, Gwen’s voice was not a dull chant of barbaric words. His voice sounded…strained. The chanting began low, yet gradually grew louder and stronger, even as Gwen’s expression became more fraught. Gwen’s strain became pain. At length, his eyes opened, watching Marcus as he chanted, and there was something so raw and human in his eyes, so desperate and sorrowful and apologetic, even—Marcus was utterly baffled. Gwen was painted with evil magic, what he was doing could not possibly be good, and yet…he was still Gwen, and Marcus’ horror and affection warred within him, neither one able to drive the other away, nor able to meld and coexist.
Emotion high in Gwen’s eyes and voice and face, he pressed down hard with his hand over Marcus’ heart once more and nearly cried out the last of his pagan chant. Head snapping back, Gwen went rigid for a moment. Marcus felt something charged in the air, as though lightning had struck nearby, and then a whoosh as though a sudden wind had swept through. Gwen trembled for a moment…then all sensations faded and the man sagged, releasing a sudden sigh as he all but collapsed, barely keeping himself from falling bodily on top of Marcus.
Panting heavily, Gwen eased to the side. He was no longer on top of Marcus, but still close enough that his hot breath brushed Marcus’ damp throat.
It took only a moment for Marcus to realize that he could move. The next moment, he sprang to his feet, backing away from the bed. On instinct and reflex, he reached for his arms and armor, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and drew it. Spinning back toward the bed, he brought the weapon up, pointing it directly at Gwen and advancing again.
There was no thought in his mind—only a certainty that filled his being from head to toe. My enemy must die.
Wearily, Gwen raised his head—the rest of his nude body remained limp upon the bed. His eyes found Marcus, flickering firelight—now faded to a normal color—reflecting in their dark depths. Yet there was no sudden fear, no flinching back—no opposition at all. Instead, as Gwen took in the sight of Marcus, sword drawn and leveled at him, his face…relaxed. That strange look of peace returned, as though all was right and as it should be. It had been confusing to Marcus when Gwen was watching his home burn, but it was truly baffling now—enough that he faltered.
Again, he stood with his sword drawn against this druid, unable to strike the killing blow. “What do you want of me?” He all but cried in frustration and despair. “Are you seeking your own death? What can you possibly mean by this? Why do you look at me that way?”
Something in his tone seemed to strike Gwen as off, or not quite what he expected. A little frown appeared, barely surfacing amidst the weariness that seemed to be pulling Gwen toward unconsciousness—whether by sleep or by fainting. Tilting his head, Gwen murmured hoarsely, “Markus?”
The sweetness of the man’s confusion and lack of enmity only angered Marcus. Growling, he bit out his short, simple words. “Gwen want die? Want Marcus kill Gwen?”
Gwen’s answer was a strange look—one Marcus could not decipher. Then, he slowly shook his head, yet his expression made it impossible for Marcus to tell if he was answering or simply pitying Marcus for his lack of comprehension.
Grinding his teeth, Marcus pressed, “What Gwen want?”
Tender eyes looked up at him, and an earnestness appeared in their depths. “Help Markus.”
His distrust must have shown plainly. Gwen reached out, only a little bit, and gestured peacefully toward him. “Markus…no good. Gwen magick good. Magick…sehrve Markus. Help.”
No good? He had no idea what that could mean, but he rapidly took stock of himself. I am alive. Am I ill? Cursed? …I cannot know. He did not feel ill, only tired after their exertions in bed. What does he mean by that? What has he done? Then, Does it matter? Whatever it was, it had been a very real enchantment. It had involved blood, and…and other fluids not meant for such things. Gwen had bound him, made him powerless—that could only mean the witchcraft he’d worked was far from harmless.
“Druid magic no good,” he countered grimly. “Druid die.”
With the same sweet acceptance, Gwen shrugged, smiling a little. “Markus kill druidh. Gwen…ah…uhn…uhn-dha…uhn-dha…shant?”
Clearly a new word, one Gwen barely remembered. Yet Marcus had no time or patience for lessons now. “Gwen understand?” he asked, teeth still clenched. The druid weakly nodded. Marcus bit out, “Marcus no understand.”
Shakily, Gwen attempted to sit up. Marcus tensed, edging closer with his sword still raised, and seeing it, Gwen stopped and lay upon his side, half-supported on an arm. “Markus, Gwen,” he held up a hand for each name, then brought them together. “Ah…sex. Y noson o Galanhaf, y ddefod tân…sex.” He paused, then, studying Marcus’ face, which was set in a frown as his eyes flicked to the bed where Gwen lay, to Gwen’s rune-painted body, and to Marcus’ own nudity. Gwen’s eyes widened slightly, then he shook his head. “No…” His gaze lifted to the ceiling, casting back in his mind for a word. “No this sex. Fah…fahrst sex.”
It took him a moment to guess that one. “First?” he finally ventured. He thought he remembered Gwen learning that word.
A quick nod. “Fihrst sex. Fihrst, ah, tahtch?”
“First touch?” he guessed. Gwen nodded. The time we met…when I raped him? Marcus wavered slightly, though not through any change of intention. It was simply…surprising to hear Gwen bring it up.
“Fihrst tahtch, Markus tahtch Gwen—Galanhaf. Ddefod tân ysbrydnos, Galanhaf.” Marcus shook his head. Gwen sighed. “Druidh magick…ah, nye-the.” Again, he shook his head. Gwen lifted himself a little more, then pointed to the window. “Nye-the. Daye, nye-the.”
“Night? Night and day?” Gods, what did any of this mean? What was Gwen’s meaning, and what did it matter? I should just do it…end it…
A sharp nod. “N…Night. Markus tahtch Gwen, fihrst sex Gwen, Galanhaf night. Magick night. Gwen…do magick—daye, night. Markus tahtch magick…magick, ah, tahtch Markus.” As he spoke, his hands continued to paint the moment as best they could. Then, Marcus tensed as Gwen threw one hand behind himself—behind the moment he was describing? “Markus kill druidh. Kill Gwen, druidh.” His hand came forward. Locked with the other. “Magick tahtch Markus.” Then, that hand moved forward again, hovering out in front of him now, near the tip of Marcus’ upraised blade, yet paying the weapon no mind. “Markus no kill Gwen. Wahnt Gwen. Gwen sehrve, no sex. Markus wahnt Gwen wahnt sex.” He met Marcus’ eyes, and with one word gave his best explanation. “Magick.”
Still failing to see how this explained anything that had just happened, Marcus found himself hesitating. Could it be that he means…? But before he could puzzle through the words, Gwen brought his hands back to himself. He pointed to his own body, tracing the runes. “Good magick.” He pointed to the bed, to his bleeding palm. “Help Markus.” He pointed to Marcus, then to himself. “Magick…kill Galanhaf magick.” Slowly, he lifted himself, rolling back until he sat upon the bed with a wince of discomfort—nude and open before Marcus’ eyes. He gestured to himself. “Druidh magick kill Galanhaf. Help Markus. Markus no magick, no wahnt Gwen, no wahnt sex. Wahnt kill druidh. Gwen undahshandh.”
His voice, as he finished, was soft. Tender. And more than that—sorrowful. Perhaps a little apologetic. Marcus stared at him. Slowly, his sword arm lowered to his side.
“You believe that I was under some…druid spell? That I raped you, and took you, and kept you all this time because of some…curse? That I was enchanted to desire you…and now…” He gazed at Gwen, at his painted body, and remembered what had just happened—and how it had begun. How Gwen had gone about it. “Now, freed from enchantment, you think I return to my first wish—to kill you and be rid of all your kind. That is why you believe I raise my sword upon you now. Because…because I never truly desired you at all.”
Gwen watched him, dark eyes unwavering and still sad. He made no response, only a shrug of incomprehension when Marcus fell silent. Ah, what did I expect? He chastised himself. He cannot understand all that.
Swallowing, Marcus thought through Gwen’s words again, silently. He came to the same conclusion with the second try. In truth, the more he considered it, the more this explanation made all Gwen’s actions to this point seem so much more natural. If this is what he thought was happening… Marcus considered it again, feeling doubt begin to enter his mind. Is it possible? Could I have been cursed all this time?
Gazing silently at the man sitting upon his bed, waiting calmly, Marcus examined himself—his thoughts, his desires, his feelings. Had he been spellbound all this time? Had he never truly loved Gwen, as he had thought?
Doubt, however, barely lived long enough to register as such. With one look at Gwen, he felt his heart yearn toward the man with the exact same passion as before. Gwen was painted and frightening with his barbaric magic marked all over his body…and yet, he was sweaty and spent, his eyes gentle and sad—exhausted from coupling, and from working his strange spells in an effort to release Marcus…Even if banishing the magic he thought was binding me meant that I would turn and kill him without a second thought.
This, he now realized, was what Gwen thought was happening now. Marcus, now no longer enchanted, had returned to his first determination—to kill the druids. He could have left things as they were—left Marcus “enchanted,” remained in a safe position of service—one which didn’t even demand his body from him, as long as he did not choose to give it.
Marcus’ heart throbbed in his chest with a swell of adoration so powerful it was physically painful. He is…mad. What man in his right mind would do what he has done, believing what he believes? Yes, mad was the only word for it—mad, and in command of terrible, real power; Marcus could easily remember the terrifying force of it, and he would now have to face the idea that the druids wielded more than just superstition and evil practices. Gwen had rendered him powerless with his words. He held far more power than Marcus was comfortable seeing, even in the hands of one whose thoughts and actions made sense to him.
He was…afraid of Gwen. And in love with him, more deeply than ever. In a gesture of despair, Marcus threw his sword away, then buried his face in his hands. His voice, when he spoke, was numb and dull.
“You found words to explain yourself—I know not how, with so few to choose from. I will never be able to do the same. How can I answer this confession you give me?”
When he lowered his hands, there was Gwen again—still naked, still watching him, eyes confused now, and still carrying their regret. Marcus checked himself once more—no, there was no mistake. Whatever Gwen believed his magic had done, whatever it might have affected at some point, no magic had made him love Gwen. And if, as Gwen thought, all that was gone now, then certainly no magic was making him feel what he felt now.
What all this would come to mean, Marcus knew not. Yet, he realized, he had found his answer. Something he could do to help Gwen see where his thinking had gone wrong.
Stepping forward, Marcus approached the bed. Gwen glanced to the side, at his discarded sword, with a look of surprise, as though wondering why Marcus hadn’t gone for that first. Still, he neither flinched away nor seemed alarmed. Perhaps he was assuming that Marcus could just as easily kill him with his bare hands—which was true. But that was not going to happen now.
Reaching out, Marcus grasped Gwen by both forearms and pulled him forward, gently helping him to the edge of the bed, then supporting him as he stepped to the floor and found his footing on weak and trembling legs. With one arm around Gwen, Marcus drew him close until their bodies were pressed together. With the other hand, he lifted Gwen’s face to his own, and kissed him.
He felt Gwen’s gasp, the rigid shock that rippled through his body…but he didn’t stop. He kissed Gwen fully, deeply, nothing held back or hesitating, with all the passion and tenderness he cherished for this man, who should have been his enemy. Who might still become such…but that was not a thought for this moment. This moment, this kiss, was his answer—I love you still.
Beyond magic, beyond evil sorcery and strange powers—or perhaps beneath them—there was a man whose nature was kind and brave, and Marcus loved him. If Gwen never cared for him, Marcus would still harbor this love. If Gwen someday killed him, Marcus would love him with his last breath. How it had come to this mattered not.
Marcus had sometimes wondered, when his wife lay sleeping beside him at night, if there was more of love that he had yet to know. And long, long ago, when he was young and growing into his own body, feelings running high and eyes yearning after a beautiful young soldier, the son of his father’s friend—then he had wished that someday he would feel the passion that poets spoke of.
Now, he knew it. He kissed Gwen, and knew the pain and joy he had dreamed of.
Gwen squirmed against him, and Marcus felt lean, bony arms wrap around him. Hands explored the muscles and ridges of his back as Gwen pulled him closer, and Marcus realized with breathless joy that the man was ardently kissing him back, their naked bodies sliding against each other eagerly.
Gwen’s breath was hot in his mouth. His lips were wet and slick against Marcus’ kiss. He could taste the man, feel his tongue answering every deep caress, his hard body heaving for breath against Marcus’ skin. His prick swollen and rising against Marcus’ thigh…
Gasping, he broke the kiss—but neither of them pulled back. With one glance, Marcus saw heavy-lidded blue struggling to lift up and find his face, but dazed arousal made Gwen momentarily vacant and stunned. That look—lust and bewilderment mingled in lovely blue—drove all thought of his vows of restraint from Marcus’ mind. Gwen’s panting, kiss-swollen mouth and aroused eyes and hot, hard body were beckoning him, begging for satisfaction. Marcus answered the plea without a thought.
Swift but gentle, he pushed Gwen down and back to sit on the edge of the bed, even as he sank to his knees. Gwen had not even registered the change before Marcus took the head of his prick into his mouth, eyes fixed on Gwen’s face. He drank in Gwen’s expression of surprise and rapture at the sudden pleasure as he sucked his way slowly down to the base of Gwen’s erection. His chest swelled with joy at Gwen’s stuttering moan as his pleasure swelled higher, and his hands moved to rest on the back of Marcus’ head, fingers grasping fitfully in his hair as Gwen’s head lolled back, his shoulders lax and his chest rising and falling fast.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon Gwen’s face—blocking from his mind the sight of those barbaric symbols all over his body—Marcus threw himself into the act, sucking up and down the length of Gwen’s rigid shaft with the eagerness of a man gulping fresh air after nearly drowning. Gwen’s scent was musky, sweat still lingering in the crevices of his body, the salty taste of semen heady and erotic upon his flesh. It reminded Marcus of one thing—Gwen had come. Whatever his intention in seducing Marcus tonight, he had taken pleasure in the act. Judging by his actions afterward, Marcus wasn’t certain that Gwen’s orgasm had been necessary for his magic ritual—but it had happened, as surely as Gwen was tense and shaking with ecstasy now, and that would sustain Marcus. Knowing that at least some small part of Gwen enjoyed the physical act of coupling with him—that was enough.
Now, he thought only of Gwen, and of giving him pleasure. Marcus filled his mouth with Gwen’s hard prick, hungrily lapping the hot flesh from root to tip. He squeezed and caressed any part he couldn’t reach with his mouth and fondled Gwen’s testicles, sighing as rough hands tightened in his hair. Broken, half-formed barbarian words fell from Gwen’s lips—Marcus didn’t understand them, but he knew. Gwen was close, he couldn’t restrain his pleasure, he would spill any moment…
Hands raking up and down Gwen’s bare body, Marcus pushed him onto his back, sucking his prick with renewed vigor, grasping the base and digging a thumb gently into the tender flesh beneath his cock. Gwen groaned heavily through clenched teeth as he let himself fall onto the bed, and a moment later—gasping, whispering strange and primal curses—his body shuddered as his orgasm took him. The taste of his seed filled Marcus’ mouth—a bittersweet memory he’d yearned after for weeks.
Frantic with desire now, he grasped his cock and pumped, and immediately reached completion himself. Marcus spilled his seed on the ground between his legs, still milking at Gwen’s fading erection—unable to stop touching him so soon. Eventually, it was a plaintive whimper of discomfort that forced Marcus to release Gwen’s too-sensitive shaft.
Still shuddering with the fading waves of bliss his orgasm had wrought, Marcus let his head drop, his brow resting upon Gwen’s sweat-coated thigh. His every breath was ragged—and filled with the musky scent of sex and Gwen.
A lazy touch upon his head, and then Marcus could feel gentle fingers combing through his sweat-drenched hair. In response, he turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the inside of Gwen’s knobby knee, eyes half open and mind drifting somewhere far enough away that he could pretend not to see the persistent markings on Gwen’s skin. “Gwen…” he murmured, then added after a pause, “…Gwyn-klee-yew…”
From above him, Marcus heard a snort, followed by a low, breathless chuckle as Gwen’s fingertips pressed a little harder into his scalp, tugging his hair. He raised his head to see Gwen struggling weakly back up into a sitting position, gazing down upon Marcus where he remained, kneeling between Gwen’s legs. Even in the dim firelight, Marcus could see the flash of teeth bared by Gwen’s lazy grin. The hand in his hair softened again, sliding down over the side of his face, stroking his cheek and jawline as Gwen’s amusement faded. His expression became more contemplative, complex and difficult to read, but some of the smile lingered in his eyes and around his mouth. Marcus swallowed, turning his head just enough to touch his lips to Gwen’s palm.
Gwen’s eyes became searching. “No magick…”
Marcus shook his head. “No magic.”
“Markus wahnt sex, wahnt sex Gwen?”
Meeting Gwen’s eyes seriously, Marcus reiterated, “Marcus want Gwen want sex.” He realized that he hadn’t exactly been invited to suck Gwen’s cock just now, but he hoped that Gwen could forgive his forcefulness, or at least overlook it this once. Raising his eyebrows, he glanced at Gwen’s spent cock, and with an apologetic wince, pointed to his mouth. “Gwen…no want?”
This provoked another snort and a smile, but a mixed one. Gwen’s eyes rolled briefly, glancing away as he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He seemed to be blushing, though in the dark it was hard to tell. Gwen continued to avert his eyes, a frown creasing between his brows, doubt and confusion in his eyes even as his mouth continued to smile, opening and closing, half forming words but failing to give them sound. Gwen shook his head, strands of damp hair flicking into his eyes. He shoved them back, then picked at the blanket absently, glancing at Marcus only to quickly look away again.
Sitting up straighter, Marcus placed a hand over Gwen’s fidgeting one. “Gwen.”
Gwen met his eyes for longer, this time—a lingering moment in which thoughts and emotions too complex for Marcus to read filled the man’s face. Still, he tried, but there were no answers there—only questions Gwen had no words to ask. Finally, the man tipped his head back, his eyes turning upward as he sighed, his frame sagging. When he looked back down, there was a wry smile on his lips. “Gwen lern Latin,” he declared, giving each strange word its own firm emphasis.
Marcus wasn’t sure if he meant certain words he needed, or Latin in general to be able to communicate better, but either way, he could only agree. “I understand,” he answered with a small smile, nodding. “My thanks.”
With nothing more to say, Marcus rose from the floor. Gwen’s eyes flicked over Marcus’ body and dropped to his groin before quickly darting away. At once, Marcus became conscious of his nudity, of the male fluids drying on his spent cock. Heat rising to his face, he snatched up his tunic and yanked it over his head, even as Gwen pulled the blanket over his lap. Neither of them spoke, and Marcus hesitated, uncertain what to do now. The glow of the fire over Gwen’s skin finally helped him find a course of action to break the silent moment.
Murmuring for Gwen to wait a moment, Marcus snuck out of the bedroom and into the main room of the house. He filled a bucket with water from the cistern by the wall, then quietly returned, offered it to Gwen, and made scrubbing motions, pointing to Gwen’s arms—the safest area of his painted body. “Wash.”
Quickly understanding the meaning, Gwen nodded and accepted the bucket. He’d wrapped the blanket more fully around himself in Marcus’ absence, and was able to rise from the bed and go to his own bedroll without exposing himself again. He hesitated there, and Marcus saw him glance back at him briefly before he began to let the blanket slip from his shoulders. At that, Marcus turned his back and saw no more. Watching Gwen bathe himself by firelight would have been…unwise. Instead, Marcus used a cloth he had dipped in the water to clean his own body off.
Gwen returned the blanket silently, then went back to his bed. Marcus tried to do the same, but unfortunately his bed carried the lingering scent of sex, and sleep was difficult to find that night. Memories plagued him as he lay, restless in his bed alone. Gwen touching him, riding him…his sweet and hungry kiss. The horrid ritual, and the fear Marcus still felt like a cold knot in his stomach when he remembered Gwen’s power, the magical force that had struck him and rendered him helpless. Then the revelation of Gwen’s purpose, and the endless puzzle as Marcus recalled his time with Gwen thus far and attempted to piece together the truth behind Gwen’s actions, using what he had now told Marcus to explain it all.
And after everything else, he remembered the feeling of embarrassment, the need to cover his body from Gwen’s eyes. He wondered at it, for he had not felt such…shyness…perhaps since his first lessons in pleasure. Strange…he already knows my body, as I know his…
But this was a fleeting thought, for exhaustion at last dragged Marcus to sleep, not long before the dawn.